


Resolute

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Follow the North Star [9]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 19:28:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10472406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “I mean, I say things, but I don’tmeanthem,” Fitzy says. “You aren’t saying anything, but I’m pretty sure mentally undressing—”“Liam,” Roman says. “Drop it. Nothing’s going to happen, so just fucking drop it.”Fitzy quiets, and Roman has just enough time to be thankful for it. “I mean, you’re saying that—”“He’s twenty, he’s team, and he’s not on the table,” Roman says. “Drop. It.”





	

Roman is fucked. 

Roman’s been fucked for awhile, he thinks, but suddenly life’s put a very sharp point on it.

Roman doesn’t have a therapist, hasn’t since after — 

He hasn’t had a therapist he was a teenager, unless you count Zuza and the way she very patiently listens to things that likely make zero sense to her because she’s, you know, a puppy. But he bets if he did have one they’d say something like, “When do you think you were first fucked?” Maybe without the profanity. Seems untherapeutic. And Roman’s answer would of course be, “When Evan Connelly showed up to training camp looking like he’d spent the summer bench-pressing tree stumps with a knife between his beautiful teeth.”

“That seems pretty shallow,” Roman’s imaginary therapist says.

“He’s also a wonderful person,” imaginary Roman retorts, and…Roman’s going to cut off this train of thought before imaginary Roman gets sappy.

So Roman knows the root of the fucked. Roman knows when it started, Roman knows why. Roman’s adored Connie since practically the second he met him, knows he’s far from the only one on the team who feels that way. He doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone sweeter, and between him and Roman’s Sweet Child Val, the room felt ten times lighter last season than it had before they got there. He’s sweet and shy and great with kids and stupid talented on the ice and just all around an amazing person. Those aren’t new thoughts. Roman’s thought them for over a year. It’s just suddenly all that knowledge of how _good_ Evan is has been complicated by a switch flipping in Roman’s brain that makes him add “also I’d really like to have sex with him” to the end of every thought about him. 

But not just sex, maybe some dinner and drinks and a walk on the — well, no beach, but the park by his place is nice, and Roman bets Zuza and Connie would get along great. He can just see Connie petting her, hands bigger than her head, surprisingly delicate fingers scratching behind her ears as he smiles down at her, as smitten with her as Roman is with him.

See, this is a problem. This is a very big problem. Roman just spent two minutes daydreaming about his teammate petting his dog. 

Roman is so, so fucked. This is not normal protocol. Wanting to have sex with a teammate isn’t in the first place, beyond the idle thoughts of ‘if it had to be anyone on the team…’. Nothing serious, of course. Don’t shit where you eat. No one ever told Connie that one, apparently, considering the way he latched onto Roman from the start, but then, he may not have had much control in that. Fuck knows Roman doesn’t seem to have any control of this. If this is what Connie felt all last season, Roman feels for him, and also wonders what the fuck, because Connie’s — Connie, and he’s him. Not to get down on himself, because he’s awesome, but Connie’s some whole other thing, like some angel that accidentally descended to earth and then got a taste for hockey.

Wow, Roman. 

Yeah, he’s not proud of that one. That’s the kind of thing he’d be embarrassed saying to _Zuza_. 

He’s standing by it.

Here’s Roman’s point, though, imaginary therapist: this isn’t new. Or, it is, it’s completely new, because Roman’s pretty sure there wasn’t any romantic _thing_ about the way he thought about Connie last year, and if there was he’s probably going to feel gross about it, grosser than he does now. But basically the second Roman met him he dubbed him ‘Sweetheart’, and he doesn’t think that was the wrong name, though Sweetheart’s taken on another tone in his head, one a lot less innocent than Roman meant it at the time. 

Roman bets he would be a sweetheart. Kid’s sweet to the bone, and so eager for praise it makes Roman ache. It made him ache from the start, but it’s a different ache now, Roman incapable of not thinking about how sweet he’d be in other contexts, how eager, lashes brushing his cheeks and bottom lip plush under Roman’s thumb as Roman coaxed him to open his mouth, the flush he gets, the sweet, all over blush coloring him a vivid, pretty pink, so that Roman wouldn’t be sure where he left a mark with his mouth and where Connie just wanted him to.

Shut _up_ , Roman.

That’s been something he’s been repeating a lot, but unfortunately he hasn’t been particularly successful in strong-arming his hindbrain into submission, nor has he been successful in shutting up that part of him that keeps piping up that Connie would be, well — interested is a probably an understatement. Connie’s interest in him isn’t some bit of wishful thinking he’s suddenly cooked up, it’s the biggest open secret on the North Stars, one he put a lot of energy into pretending he didn’t notice last season, because it was sweet and flattering but not going to happen, and Roman figured ignoring it would hurt his feelings less, that he’d grow out of it and they’d laugh about it some day, because how ridiculous was that, crushing on _Roman_?

Except Connie hasn’t grown out of it. It’s still not going to happen, because Roman’s stronger than the part of him that wants it, the part that can’t stop watching him, can’t stop wondering what Connie thought of when he thought of him, whether that whole sweet as pie naivete thing was to the core and he cut thoughts off at a chaste kiss goodnight or, far more likely, if he thought of Roman with the lights out and his hand on his dick, thought about Roman holding him down, thought of Roman’s dick down his throat or pushing into him, Roman’s hips slapping against his tight —

Shut the _fuck_ up, Roman.

“Brain bleach,” Roman says aloud, and Zuza’s head pops up before she realizes he’s talking to himself. Brain bleach is a thing that should exist. He’s only ever heard about it in the context of things you’d _want_ to forget, horrible images, and the shit that’s going through his head is distinctly not horrible, but brain bleach would still be a good thing right now.

“I’m not taking advantage of a teenager, Zuza,” Roman tells her, and her ear quirks when she hears her name, but she doesn’t react beyond that.

“Or a twenty year old,” Roman amends, petting her ears back, remembering Connie correcting him. Biggest sign of all Connie’s way too young for him is the fact that he thinks twenty makes one hell of a difference from nineteen, that changing decades makes some huge difference. At a certain point, birthdays don’t mean shit beyond a new number to remember, and Connie hasn’t reached that point. Fuck, he isn’t even legal to drink yet.

“Not happening,” Roman says. “You believe me, right Zuza?”

Zuza bumps his hand with her head, and Roman knows she’s just looking for more pets, but he takes that as agreement.

*

They go back on the road, and it’s shit for Roman’s resolve. Not the not taking advantage thing because obviously that’s not going to happen, more the trying to slap his stupid thoughts into submission, get them back on the straight and narrow. Hah. Straight. Yeah, not so much.

The problem is, Roman can’t stop looking at him. That’s more a symptom than the actual problem, Roman guesses, but it’s a pretty big one, especially since Fitzy already picked up on it. Fitzy’s not the only one either. Roman gets…distracted when they’re waiting to get on the plane, and when Roman manages to pull his eyes away from the sharp cut of Connie’s jaw, Harry’s scowling at him like he knows exactly what’s going through his head. Which is frankly mortifying because it should _not_ be going through Roman’s head, and he already feels shit enough about it without Spoilsport, well. He can’t even say he’s being a spoilsport about it because Roman shouldn’t be looking in the first place, so Harry’s totally right to throw that ‘I know what you’re thinking, perv’ shade his way. Roman 100% deserves it.

That still doesn’t mean he likes it, not that first time, not the unfortunately high number of times that follow, because it’s like Connie’s become the sun or something, impossible to ignore the second he’s in the same room as Roman. Except Roman guesses if he was the sun Roman would be averting his eyes or getting blinded, so maybe that isn’t the best analogy. Maybe something about magnets? Roman will work on it.

Point is, Roman has a hard time not looking, and what was hard enough at home is ten times harder when they’re on the road and the team’s spending a good chunk of the day together. Roman doesn’t believe in psychic shit or whatever, but he seems to know exactly when Connie enters a room, and the second he does, Roman’s eyes go that way. Reflex. Completely out of his control. It also seems, lately, that every time Roman gets caught up, Roman also gets _caught_ , Harry shadowing Connie like, well, a shadow, looking at Roman as much as Roman’s looking at Connie, though perhaps a little differently. More glaring, for one.

Roman’s been wanting Harry to lay off of Connie for a year now, but now that it’s happening it’s rubbing him the wrong way. Which is selfish and stupid, because Connie seems happier, but it’s like the second Harry decided that Connie didn’t piss him off was the exact second he appointed himself Connie’s personal security or something, and that’s straight up bullshit, because Connie doesn’t need protecting from Roman. Roman isn’t going to do shit.

They win their first game away, and that apparently calls for drinks at a chill little bar a block from their hotel. Some of the dudes peel off to their rooms to Skype the family or chill without company or whatever, but the majority go, including Connie, though he’s the only one of the group who’s under twenty-one. Of the roster, actually, now that Val’s down. 

“Want me to buy you a drink?” Roman asks when they get inside, touching Connie’s shoulder. Connie turns away from his spot at the bar, smiles that sweet smile at him. 

“It’s okay,” Connie says. “If they ID me I’ll just get a pop, but they haven’t really, lately.”

Roman _bets_. Being a giant tends to be helpful on that front. Last year he was IDed a few times anyway, whenever someone got the bright idea of looking up and seeing the face of a teenager, but unless they’re going somewhere strict about IDing everyone who looks under thirty or something, Roman doesn’t think that’s going to be happening anymore.

“Well,” Roman says, then, suddenly aware he no longer has a good excuse to be hanging around, considering there isn’t space for him, and Harry, who’s taken the spot beside Connie, has started glaring daggers at him again. “Let me know.”

‘Let me know’, Roman mouths disgustedly at himself as he goes to sit down at a nearby table that’s housing Dev and Fitzy and, most importantly, a pitcher of beer. Dev works fast.

Roman pours himself some of Dev’s beer while he watches Harry, shoulder to, well, not shoulder with Connie, get IDed. Roman can just see him on the edge of telling the bartender that Connie’s underage and how dare him, Harry’s been legal for _years_. Roman’s not just imagining that: that exact rant came out of his mouth last season when Connie got passed over and he didn’t. He doesn’t say anything this time though, just grumpily provides his ID, frowning until Connie says something to him, elbowing him in the side, which gets Connie a flash of a grin.

“Looks like they’re finally getting along,” Devon says, sounding satisfied. “Figured Connie would win him over eventually.”

Fitzy smirks. Roman hates that smirk.

“What?” Roman says.

“What?” Fitzy echoes.

“What’s that face?” Roman asks.

“It’s my face,” Fitzy says. “Dev, Roman’s insulting my face.”

“Fitzy’s face is suspicious,” Roman says.

“ _Roman’s_ face is suspicious,” Fitzy says. “Of my face.”

“And Devon’s leaving this stupid argument,” Dev says. “You’re paying for that pitcher too, vultures.”

“Love you too, Cap!” Fitzy calls to his retreating back.

“What was that face?” Roman repeats.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Fitzy says cheerfully. He’s a terrible liar. Roman doesn’t even know if he tries or not, but he suspects not, the better to drive people nuts. He ignores Roman’s glare to check his phone. “Mike says hi.”

“Does he?” Roman asks skeptically.

“Nope,” Fitzy says without missing a beat. “But I say hi for him. I’m telling him you said hi back.”

“He didn’t—” Roman says, but Fitzy’s already texting away. “Hi, Brouwer,” he says, because he feels like he’s going to be saying it anyway.

“Mike says hi back,” Fitzy says after a minute.

“Did he though?” Roman asks.

Fitzy’s mouth quirks.

“Are you even texting him?” Roman says. “Is this entire conversation a lie, Fitzgerald?”

“I am,” Fitzy says. “But he’s a slow texter so I’m multi-tasking. My friend Ben says hi!”

“Uh huh,” Roman says.

Fitzy shows him his screen, which does in fact say “Hi Roman!”, accompanied by a smiley face.

“You’re bored, huh?” Roman asks.

“I’m so bored,” Fitzy says. “I want to go home.”

“Less than a week,” Roman says, but Fitzy doesn’t look comforted by that. “You okay?”

Fitzy shrugs. “Just hate roadies,” he says, finally, which isn’t all of it, Roman doesn’t think, but he’s gotten to know Fitzy’s face well enough over the past year — not hard, since it’s the picture book of faces, even remedial face readers could manage — to know he doesn’t want any more questions.

“Who’s this Ben?” Roman asks, changing the subject so Fitzy doesn’t have to, and in return he gets a meandering, effusive description of Liam’s former teammate, who turns out to be the younger brother of a dude Roman’s punched more than a few times. Six degrees of punching, with Fitzy at the epicenter. He also has a new baby, and Liam makes him look at every single picture he has. She’s cute. Like, in the way babies are cute. Roman doesn’t know. He’s a dog person, not a baby person. 

Liam’s picture show thankfully gets interrupted by a text, and he takes his phone back. “Okay, I’m actually going to tell Mike you said hi,” Liam says.

While Fitzy’s busy conveying fake — or fake and then real, Roman guesses, since he did say it out loud — salutations, Roman’s eyes wander back to Connie. Magnetized, sun, whatever. Just call infatuation what it is, Roman. Connie’s still shoulder to not-shoulder with Harry, which is weird, since he’s usually in the Spider’s web when they’re out, though Victor’s been chummy with the new guy, so maybe he’s been feeling left out. Roman makes a note to check on him, and not like, the way that sounds in his head. A genuine check on him. 

Connie looks okay, though, has reached the point in the evening when he’s had enough to blow past that shy initial wall to become as talkative as anyone, hands moving on the bar-top in what may be a diagram of play, may be something entirely different. Roman checks Harry’s face to see if he’s glazed over in boredom, because Connie can get on a roll, but he’s just looking at Connie with this weird little quirk of his mouth. He’s not a bad looking dude when he isn’t scowling all the time. Roman would tell him that, but he’s pretty sure Harry would straight up murder him.

“Looks like they’re finally getting along,” Fitzy says, his tone nothing like Devon’s, but somehow just as satisfied. The smirk’s back.

Roman wants to ask. 

Roman isn’t going to ask. Roman’s not an idiot. 

“Quit stirring shit, Fitzgerald,” Roman says instead. One of his father’s favorite things to say, presumably picked up from hockey, and when Roman was a little shit he’d use it too, imitating his táta’s heavy accent as he said it. He did it enough that it’s snuck in to his vocabulary, sarcasm free. Next time Roman calls home he’ll suck it up and apologize, because fuck he was a brat.

Speaking of brats: “I don’t know how to do that,” Fitzy says, and Roman could believe it.

They’ve got three more games before they head home, two against pretty hard opponents, so this isn’t really the kind of night you stay out for more than a couple beers, and when they hit the dregs of their second pints Fitzy yawns almost on cue. “Let’s pack it in?” Roman asks, and Fitzy nods. 

“You covered me last time,” Fitzy says. “I got this.”

Last time Fitzy forgot his wallet. Like actually forgot, not ‘forgot’. They found it safe and sound in his locker the next day, but man, Roman has no idea how he managed to reach twenty-six.

“Cool,” Roman says, does a quick survey. Dev seems to be making the rounds, probably saying the same thing Roman did. Victor and Berg are deep in conversation, but there’s a check on the table, so they’re good. Which reminds Roman he should probably check in on how Connie’s doing without Spider’s attentions. “Gotta talk to Connie.”

Fitzy raises his eyebrows. “Kay,” he says, drawing it out. “But he already left.”

Roman glances back at where Connie and Spoilsport had been, and sure enough it’s deserted, even their glasses cleared away. Roman wonders how he missed that, then feels weird and gross for wondering. “Waiting on you then, I guess,” he says.

“I paid cash,” Fitzy says, popping up. “Walk me home, stud.”

“You’re going to make Findlay cry some day,” Roman says.

“That’s the dream,” Fitzy says, then links his arm in Roman’s. “Unless you make him cry first.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Roman asks, as they get outside. They had to go out sideways to keep linked, but Fitzy wasn’t letting go, and he’s got a pretty tight grip.

Fitzy doesn’t bother responding. With words at least. His face is expressive enough. 

“Fitzgerald,” Roman says warningly.

“I mean, I say things, but I don’t _mean_ them,” Fitzy says. “You aren’t saying anything, but I’m pretty sure mentally undressing—”

“Liam,” Roman says. “Drop it. Nothing’s going to happen, so just fucking drop it.”

Fitzy quiets, and Roman has just enough time to be thankful for it. “I mean, you’re saying that—”

“He’s twenty, he’s team, and he’s not on the table,” Roman says. “Drop. It.”

“Dropping it,” Fitzy says sweetly, and the rest of the short walk to the hotel is as peaceful as being in Liam Fitzgerald’s vicinity can be.

“Kiss goodnight?” he asks in front of his door, and Roman flicks him in the forehead and heads to his own room. 

He considers swinging by Connie and Harry’s room, checking on Connie there, but he can’t even begin to imagine the look on Harry’s face if he did. And he can’t even blame him. Seeing if something’s up with Connie and the Spider isn’t a time-sensitive thing, especially since the only real sign of trouble is the fact that they’re hanging out with other people, and Roman doesn’t think there’s a nice way to say “You’re hanging out with Harry when you could be hanging out with Vic. Is something wrong?” It sounds dickish even in his head.

Still, there’s something in him that has to physically keep himself from going to Connie’s door. He could pretend it was Rookie Handler intuition left over from last season, the concerns of a mentor or whatever, but that’s bullshit and he knows it. He just wants to see him. Say goodnight.

“Fucking hell,” Roman says aloud, and goes to take a shower before his feet start taking him somewhere he isn’t supposed to go.


End file.
